intruder alert
by CherryFlavoredChalk
Summary: Well, god forbid Hufflepuff actually gets some glory out of this blasted tournament. Thanks a lot, Potter. Pop-culture references coming out the ying-yang. An alternative ending to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.


**intruder **alert

_a bit of nonsense for you_

The tension between them could've been cut with a knife.

The TriWizard cup stood glimmering in the center of the maze. Diggory stood braced against the hedges, his handsome face scraped and bleeding faintly at the edges. He kept giving Harry looks out of the corner of his eyes; wide, bloodshot ones that managed to look nice even with the tortured screams sounding off and the vomit on the ground and so on.

"Harry," breathed Diggory, "I can't. I just can't. I can't take the cup without you."

A few birds fought their way through the hedges, their beaks poking out the merest inch as they trilled loudly. The sound of pianos could be heard the distance, gradually straining to be louder to accommodate the special moment.

Harry sneezed, and a stream of blood came trickling down. He wiped it hastily with his sleeve.

"Want to tie it, then?" he said. Diggory's forehead crinkled in confusion.

"Wot?"

"Tie it. I mean, either way Hogwarts wins. Doesn't really matter anymore."

Diggory sneered. "Thanks a lot, Potter. You were supposed to be all noble and say, 'Oh, _no_, Cedric, you can have the cup! It's not as if you're trying to give Hufflepuff some _glory_ or anything!" He stalked over to Harry, throwing his arm roughly around his shoulders. Harry used his good arm to pinch him. "God, Potter, you grotsky little _bitch_."

There was the unsettling sight of the world closing in on itself, and then they laid there, flat on their backs in front of hundreds of students in front of the maze.

"They're dead!" squealed Madame Olympe, burrowing her face in the swell of Hagrid's chest. He patted her bum reassuringly.

Dumbledore and the rest of his scholarly posse (plus Granger and Weasley; never could manage to shake them off, could he) hurried towards the two, jerking them upwards. The headmaster seized Harry's elbow, shaking him slightly.

"HARRY!" bellowed Dumbledore, spraying everyone around him with spit and hitting Snape in the face with the edge of his greyed ponytail. "WHAT HAS HAPPENED?"

"He's back," Cedric wheezed against McGonagall's crooked arm, "he's back, sir, Voldemort is back-you better hide yo' wife, hide yo' kids, and hide yo' husband 'cause he's Avada Kedavara-ing everybody out there."

"What we mean to say," Harry sniveled, "is that he's climbing through windows, he _snatching your people up_-"

"OKAY, great, cool, shut up about that." Ron Weasley strode forward, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "The real point is, guys…who won?"

There was a deep, uprooting silence in which Diggory wanted to die.

"W-Well," stammered Harry, "um, it's all about international relations and friendship, right? So me and Cedric decided to put our past animosity behind us and make sure that at least Hogwarts had a victory, so we grabbed it at the same time. That's what's important, right? Friendship, and…nice…things." He faltered under Ron's furious gaze and busied himself with beginning a very small braid in Dumbledore's ponytail.

Hermione stared at him. "Oh my god, Harry, you fucking _loser_."

Back at the graveyard, Wormtail was holding a bundle of mostly diminished evil lord, who was beginning to become quite obnoxious.

"Where's Harry Potter?" he hissed from within the tattered robes. "Bring the boy to me. Bring him so I may _kill _him at long last!"

Wormtail fidgeted in place, shifting the miniature Lord Voldemort from the left arm to the right. "My Dark Lord," whimpered the animagus, "I, um. It appears the Potter will not be coming to your, ah, resurrection, as it seems."

There was a small passage of silence. Then, Voldemort said petulantly, "So there was no need for the violins, then?"

The violinists Voldemort and Wormtail had booked for the grandiose occasion looked relieved. They'd spent the greater half of a year locked in the cottage of a dead man learning to play a threatening-sounding concerto written by Wormtail under the threat of the Cruciatus curse. "Can I go home?" squeaked one of them. "My wife's waiting up for me and I don't want to miss dinner."

Voldemort shivered in his swaddling blanket of darkness and evil. "How did this happen?" he murmured. "The plan was flawless."

Wormtail sighed and addressed the sky above him airily, "I might've messed up the portkey. Charms never was my strongest subject. Pity, that."

"Oh my god, Wormtail," sneered the Venemous Lord of Evil, "you grotsky little _bitch_."

* * *

**a/n: **I am just not a funny person at all. Boo, boo.


End file.
